Chapter One: Songs in the Style of China

Capital City.

Qingbei University, elective course lecture hall, Music Appreciation class.

“Besides the genres written on the blackboard—R&B, jazz, rock, blues—can anyone name other types of popular music?” On the podium, an elderly professor with silver hair addressed the students.

He glanced around the room symbolically; as expected, no one raised their hand. Qingbei University, the highest comprehensive institution in the country, had no formal music department, only a handful of music and arts courses offered as electives.

Since it wasn’t a professional music academy, the professor’s question was more of a formality, after which he would simply continue his lecture. Yet, as he withdrew his gaze, a handsome young man in the corner raised his hand: “Professor, I have something to add!”

The professor looked at the student with mild surprise, then nodded for him to proceed.

Xu Ze rose from his seat, strode to the blackboard, picked up a piece of chalk, and next to the professor’s writing, firmly wrote three words:

“Chinese Style.”

Turning to the professor, Xu Ze explained:

“Chinese style songs incorporate ancient Chinese references and stories as creative backgrounds, blending modern music with classical flavors. The singing techniques are diverse.”

“The musical style leans toward traditional Eastern instrumentation, incorporating instruments such as the guzheng, xiao, pipa, flute, and others.”

After Xu Ze finished, the elderly professor pondered for a moment and asked, “Is this your own summary?”

The professor, once a prominent figure in the music world, had explored many genres. Xu Ze’s concept of Chinese style reminded him of the ancient-style songs that once emerged in the industry.

Back then, most ancient-style songs stuck with traditional singing methods and failed to gain market acceptance; eventually, few continued to try this genre.

But Xu Ze’s explanation of Chinese style songs introduced a new idea: using modern music to convey classical flavor, which distinguished it from the ancient-style songs of the past.

Xu Ze hesitated, then replied, “Yes.”

“Chinese style—a fine name,” the professor affirmed, then asked, “So, which songs would you say represent Chinese style today?”

Xu Ze was taken aback. From what he remembered, there were no representative Chinese style songs in this world.

After all, this world had none of the masters of Chinese style music from his previous life.

“None at the moment,” Xu Ze shook his head, then added, “But I believe they’ll appear soon.”

The professor didn’t comment further. Such music wasn’t easy for the market to accept, but he wouldn’t directly dismiss his student’s idea. He shifted his tone, curious, “What’s your major?”

“Chinese Language and Literature,” Xu Ze replied.

It was reasonable for a Chinese language major to know music well.

Yet Xu Ze made up an explanation: “My latest research topic is on the development and inheritance of traditional culture in modern society.”

“I believe music is an excellent way to carry tradition, so I’ve studied it more deeply.”

…

After Xu Ze returned to his seat, he nervously asked in his mind, “Did I complete it?”

“Ding, congratulations, host, task completed.”

“Successfully activated the Arts and Entertainment System. Reward calculation in progress.”

Xu Ze, a native of Earth, had just transmigrated.

In his previous life, he was a music producer who’d struggled for years in the entertainment industry yet remained obscure. One night, after working late on a song, he blacked out and woke up in this classroom.

Now, he was a sophomore majoring in Chinese Language and Literature at Qingbei University, also named Xu Ze.

A few minutes ago, after integrating his memories, Xu Ze awakened the Arts and Entertainment System.

The system issued its first task: introduce the concept of Chinese style music in class, and he’d receive a reward upon completion.

Having read many novels in his previous life, Xu Ze naturally looked forward to the system’s reward. Without hesitation, he accepted the task.

“Ding, reward calculation complete.”

“Host receives three A-grade Vocal Fruit, which can elevate the host’s singing to A-grade singer level for ten minutes. (Repeated use may permanently improve vocal quality.)”

Xu Ze’s eyes lit up—what a reward! In his previous life, he’d dreamed of being a singer, but his voice and looks never measured up; the singer’s path was closed to him.

Now, his appearance was much more handsome than before, though his voice was still lacking. With this Vocal Fruit, the problem was solved, though the quantity was limited—only three.

“Ding, new task released. Please participate in the ‘I Am a Singer-Songwriter’ program, compose a Chinese style song, and successfully pass the first offline selection round. Completing the task will earn a reward.”

Participate in ‘I Am a Singer-Songwriter’?

He’d heard of this show—it was quite famous.

Xu Ze took out his phone and searched.

‘I Am a Singer-Songwriter’ was an original song competition hosted by Capital Television. It was now in the final stages of the preliminary selection, and every contestant had to compete with their own original song.

Using original songs for the competition? That’s a much greater challenge than most music shows.

But for Xu Ze, who possessed the song library of his previous life on Earth, this task seemed fairly easy.

Just moments ago, Xu Ze realized his memories of his prior life were exceptionally clear; every work he’d seen or heard was vividly remembered.

…

After class, Xu Ze rode his bicycle to the nearest subway station, intent on finding a studio to record his song.

He needed a cheap recording studio.

After some searching, Xu Ze found one that looked well-equipped and reasonably priced.

The rate was 500 an hour, with additional charges for extra time.

Entering the studio and seeing the equipment around him, Xu Ze felt a rush of familiarity.

In his previous life, he’d spent most of his days in studios; they were like home to him.

Though he’d fallen at his post, fate had given him another chance to chase his dream.

He already knew what song he was going to record.

In just forty minutes, Xu Ze finished producing the instrumental—next was the vocal recording.

Xu Ze focused his mind, and a pale red A-grade Vocal Fruit appeared in his hand. He walked to the mirror; sure enough, the fruit was invisible to all but himself.

He popped the fruit into his mouth—it was cool.

Humming a few notes, Xu Ze was amazed: was this really his own voice?

He was hooked.

He had to hurry—the fruit’s effect lasted only ten minutes. If he didn’t finish recording in time, he’d have to waste another fruit.

Without further delay, Xu Ze started recording.

The effect of the fruit was unexpectedly good; he nailed the song in one take, no mistakes.

With a few minutes left, unwilling to waste the remaining effect, he recorded a second take. After listening, he felt the second version was even better, so he chose it without hesitation.

He saved the file to a USB drive; checking the time, he saw he finished with two minutes to spare—no overtime. He hurried out to pay.

The studio owner, seeing Xu Ze exit so quickly, shook her head in disappointment. Another newcomer just here for fun, she thought.

When Xu Ze entered, his attractive appearance caught her eye; it was rare to see such a handsome music producer, so she’d noted his arrival time.

Producers with real ability and good work usually spent four or five hours in the studio—sometimes a whole day.

But those who stayed less than an hour, like Xu Ze, were mostly amateurs or students just playing around.

Xu Ze, feeling the sting of the expense, paid and prepared to leave.

The owner called out to him, “Hey, handsome, did you finish recording?”

“All done.”

“Come again next time! I’ll give you a ten percent discount.” She knew people like Xu Ze rarely returned, but for a handsome guy, she wanted to leave a good impression.

“Sure, I’ll come again,” Xu Ze replied cheerfully. A ten percent discount—this owner was really quite nice.